


Take Me By the Hand, Take Me Somewhere New

by ComeAlongPond14



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Diners, M/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:13:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeAlongPond14/pseuds/ComeAlongPond14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of the night, John Watson takes shelter at a diner in the middle of nowhere, and he finds himself in over his head when he meets a beautiful young man who works there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me By the Hand, Take Me Somewhere New

**Author's Note:**

> It's a one-night-stand (but not really) AU, friends.
> 
> ...this is purely for your amusement. It is PWP, really, based on a prompt I stumbled into on Tumblr: "forget coffee shop AUs there need to be more random diner in the middle of nowhere at one in the morning AUs."  
> So I wrote one for Johnlock (naturally). I'd had a bit of wine before I wrote, so bear that in mind and be gentle...please...
> 
> Title from Avril Lavigne's ancient masterpiece, "I'm With You."

_Isn't anyone trying to find me?_

_Won't somebody come take me home?_

_It's a damn cold night_

_Trying to figure out this life_

_Won't you take me by the hand?_

_Take me somewhere new_

_I don't know who you are_

_But I...I'm with you_

_I'm with you._

The battered Fiat wheezed into the parking lot of the little diner, its chipped grey paint glinting dully in the flickering lights that ran alongside the roof. The windows were a little fogged over, but all the lights were on, and the little black and red sign hanging on the inside of the door was flipped to, “Come on in, We’re Open!”

Cold air and a few grasping fingers of fog trailed in with John Watson as he fled the car for the warmth of the little restaurant. He paused on the threshold for a moment, rubbing his arms and blinking at the cheerful lighting of the room, tired blue eyes darting around to determine if there was anyone there.

A petite, middle aged woman in a dated floral dress and a little black apron poked her head out of the back, and beamed when she saw him. “Oh, hello, dear! Come on in out of the cold, poor thing. Bad out there tonight, is it?”

John shivered hard in response, trying to work some feeling back in his fingers. “Are you--I mean, you are open, yeah? Didn’t just forget to flip the sign?”

Her face softened with sympathy, and she bustled out to the main counter, flipping the ‘on’ switch on a massive coffee maker. “Oh, we’re open 24 hours, dear, a roadside diner like this, we like to be here for folks who get caught travelling at all hours. Coffee, love?”

“Hm, yes, please,” he said with obvious relief, tugging off his tattered gloves and moving forward, glancing between the counter and the vinyl booths, before choosing a stool at the bar.

The woman smiled at him with gratitude, shuffling to grab a mug and some creamer for him as she spoke. “Thanks, dear, it seems like such a small little place until you’re trying to bustle all over it by yourself, and my hip is just atrocious, getting in and out from behind the counter can be such a nuisance.”

He smiled at her wearily, appreciating her maternal good nature despite his blatant exhaustion. He accepted the coffee gratefully, pleased to find that it actually tasted good. “Caffeinated, right?” he asked, mostly joking, but he did need the energy.

She chuckled, leaning on the counter and tugging out an order pad. “Oh, yes. Almost never serve decaf. It’s at least two hours to the nearest motel, no matter what way you drive, so we know full-well how important a bit of a boost can be.” Her eyes twinkled as he sighed in pleasure over the hot beverage in his hands. “Anything to eat, love?”

His eyes flicked over the menu overhead, and his stomach growled abruptly as if to answer her. Laughing, he ordered some sausage and eggs, opting for protein as well as flavors he liked.

“Did you mean that, about it being two hours to a motel?” he asked, knowing how sleep-deprived he must sound. Getting back in his car was the absolutely last thing he wanted to do right now.

Over her shoulder, she answered him, “‘Fraid so, dear, this is a pretty remote stretch of the road.” There was a pleasant sizzle of frying sausage meat, and the warm smell of the grease made him feel pleasantly drowsy, and not at all ready to leave.

“Bugger,” he muttered, leaning his head on one hand, sipping the coffee and fighting how heavy his eyelids felt. “I really can’t bear the thought of another two hours’ driving.” Behind him, the door opened again with a little ding of the overhead bell, but he didn’t look up. “Are you sure there’s nothing closer, no one who rents out rooms or anything like that?”

She turned to set his food in front of him, giving a little nod and smile to whoever had just entered before she replied. “Well, actually, I have a unit of flats behind the diner that I do that with, myself, but I’m afraid I’m full-up at the moment. I’m sorry, love.”

He opened his mouth to reply, to reassure her he’d be alright, when a low voice spoke from behind him. “He can stay with me, if he’s not uncomfortable.”

John glanced back in surprise, and it felt as if the warmth of the diner and the coffee and the good food had suddenly intensified, flooding through him and making his cheeks flush and his fingers tremble, and his body was definitely taking a distinct interest in the man who had spoken.

He was beautiful, and that was odd enough, because a man who typically identifies as straight doesn’t normally think that about another male. But it was true. His thick dark curls framed a pale face, where bright blue/grey/green eyes were set above an aristocratic nose and a thin mouth with an utterly kissable cupid’s bow. John swallowed hard, blinking several times.

Behind the counter, the woman made an affectionate humming sound. “Hello, Sherlock. Are you sure you’d be alright with that?”

The man--Sherlock--nodded, hanging his long coat and blue scarf on the coat rack next to the door. He was dressed simply, in black jeans, leather shoes, and a dark blue button-down that emphasized his chest nicely and highlighted those beautiful eyes.

“If he’s not uncomfortable,” he repeated, slipping around the corner and drawing close enough to give her a light peck on the cheek. “Hello, Mrs. Hudson.” He handed her a bag that appeared to contain boxes of tea, and she made a pleased sound and shuffled away with it. Then he turned back to the man at the counter, extending his hand.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

Blinking in surprise, the seated man accepted the handshake, smiling weakly. “John Watson.” He dropped his hand, then took a sip of coffee, trying to reorient himself. “Uh--were you serious, then?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, then nodded, turning to pour himself a cup, and offering John a refill. “Certainly. If it turns out you’re a serial killer, I think I’m more than a match for you. Otherwise, no harm in being courteous to a tired traveller.” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the counter and stealing a piece of leftover sausage from the skillet on the grill. “Is that alright for you?”

Bone-deep weariness was kicking in at the mere thought of actually getting to sleep, and John smiled in sleepy amusement. “But what it turns out you’re the serial killer?” Oh God, was that flirting? Did he just flirt with a stranger--specifically, a man? Exhaustion seemed to be eliminating his inhibitions.

Sherlock grinned, his eyes sharpening as he regarded John with interest. “Well, I imagine Mrs. Hudson would have noticed by now, I’ve lived here for years. But if you’re worried, there’s a lock on the bedroom door, you’ll be safe.”

That definitely had to be flirting, John thought.

Scooping the last of his eggs into his mouth, he swallowed them and stood, shrugging his jacket back on. He was curious about the man in front of him, particularly when he turned to clean up the grill and wash the grease out of the pan. “Do you work here?” he asked with interest.

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder with a quick little smile. “Mhm. Mrs. Hudson took me in a long time ago when I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. I started working just to repay her kindness, and then I decided to stick around. She doesn’t mind my eccentricities, which is nice.”

John smiled, leaning against the counter to talk even as his eyes drooped. “Eccentric, huh? Am I going to be weirded out by your place?”

Those beautiful glasz eyes cut to his with a brief smirk. “Almost certainly, but as I doubt you’ll stay awake long enough to even walk to the bed by yourself, I think we’re safe for tonight.” Turning off the stove, he washed his hands and emerged from behind the counter. “Come on, let’s get you where you can sleep.”

John mumbled in agreement, pulling a twenty pound note out of his wallet, before jumping slightly as cool white fingers brushed his hands, pushing it back. “No charge,” Sherlock said softly, looking into his face. He was closer than John had expected, and he couldn’t repress a tiny shiver at the intensity of those beautiful eyes, fixed so specifically on him. He felt exposed.

And then he was swaying on his feet, and immediately gave up caring what he looked like to the other man; he just wanted to sleep. “Can we...?”

“Of course.” Sherlock opened the door, leading him back into the cold and around the corner, where there was a single small block of flats, all with their lights out except one, at the end, with a single dull light bulb glowing on the porch. John wasn’t walking entirely steadily as they climbed the steps, and Sherlock unlocked the door and let him enter first.

“Bedroom is through the door to the left, behind the kitchen. Bathroom is the door just before it. You can go ahead, make yourself at home.”

John mumbled a mostly-incoherent thank you, wandered through to the bedroom, and collapsed onto the bed, dragging the covers over himself. He was asleep instantly.

* * *

He woke while it was still dark outside, but he didn’t bother to check the time. He felt refreshed, as if he’d gotten a full night’s sleep, though in reality it had probably only been a handful of hours. All of his attention, however, was focused on the sound that had woken him; footsteps slipping into the bathroom, just beyond the door, which he hadn’t bothered to close behind him.

He waited until the toilet flushed, the sink ran, and the door opened again, before he called out softly, “Uh--Mr. Holmes?”

There was a soft inhalation, and then a faint chuckle, and the door creaked quietly as it opened wider. “Sherlock, please. Are you alright?”

“Mhm,” he answered, rolling over and sitting up. They gazed at each other for a moment, and then John slid out of bed and padded over to where Sherlock stood in the doorway. He was far shorter than the other man, but it didn’t seem so much, facing each other in the dark.

John’s eyes searched Sherlock’s, a few hours’ rest and the cover of night making him feel brave. His voice emerged very softly. “Do you have a girlfriend, Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s eyebrow rose at the question, but his mouth quirked up in a faint smirk at the same time. “Girlfriend, no. Not really my area.”

“Mm.” John tilted his head, accepting that as confirmation, and steeling himself to ask the next item. “D’you have a boyfriend, then?”

“No.” Sherlock’s eyes were bright, amused, as if daring John to go ahead and make the move.

The shorter man took a breath. “So, you’re unattached then. Like me.” Sherlock shifted closer, and John suddenly realized he could throw any sexual identity certainty that he’d had right out the window. “Good, that’s...good.”

Sherlock’s lips curved up in a sinful little grin. “Is it? Why is that, John?”

“Oh, shut it,” John muttered, and leaned up on the balls of his feet to kiss the other man.

Sherlock moaned at the contact, his arms coming up to circle John’s shoulders, pressing his body forward hungrily. John responded in kind, locking his hands behind the thinner man’s waist, holding him tightly. The kiss were desperate, searching, and John felt as if a question had been answered, one he never realized he’d been asking.

And then they were moving, clutching at one another and awkwardly shuffling toward the bed, and John felt his heart rate skyrocket, because he knew exactly where this was heading, and he had never wanted anything so much.

Sherlock was grasping at the hem of his t-shirt, tugging at the cotton, trying to pull it off, and John obliged him, letting it slide over his head and off, to be discarded on the floor. Sherlock’s own shirt followed suit, and then the sweat pants he had changed into at some point.

Seeing Sherlock naked seemed to snap something in John, and he felt a surge of need, of dominance, and he let that voice give the orders, turning them both and pushing Sherlock so that he tumbled into the bed, emitting a soft moan of approval.

John let himself fall onto the bed above the other man, framing him between his arms. Their eyes met in a surge of heat.

“You want this?” he asked, needing to be sure.

In reply, Sherlock flung a hand out, scrabbling through the top drawer of the bedside table until he found--

John huffed out a laugh, accepting the condom and the bottle of lube that Sherlock thrust at him, holding them tightly as he leaned down to kiss the man again, their tongues sliding together in a sweet exchange, and he could feel Sherlock slipping under, handing over control to him. He moaned quietly into the taller man’s mouth, loving the power he felt rushing through his veins.

“Yes,” Sherlock suddenly panted, answering the question. “Yes, please. I want this, I want you. Please.”

John could only grin in reply, tearing the condom open and rolling it on, before he uncapped the lube and poured a generous helping onto his own fingers. “Of course, love, hold on, I’ll get it,” he muttered, not even noticing the pet name, as he reached to rub slick fingers over Sherlock’s entrance.

The taller man bucked into his touch with a cry of pleasure, groaning his name and begging him to _do it already, fuck him, please_! and John could hardly resist. He worked fast, loving the stretch of the muscle around his fingers, something he was unfamiliar with, but it felt so utterly right.

When he had three fingers buried in the dark-haired man’s arse, Sherlock whimpered, twisting his face to kiss John’s lips, hard. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, John, just fuck me, please.”

Who could say no to that?

John withdrew his fingers, laughing when Sherlock whined in protest, and lined his cock up with his now-gaping hole. He pushed into Sherlock smoothly--and then the heat and the sounds the other man was making and the wet slippery-smooth feel of their bodies gliding together overwhelmed him, and he began fucking his hips forward in earnest, desperately, groaning as Sherlock cried out, short panted shouts that made John’s blood sing.

Sherlock’s orgasm hit him rapidly, the prostate stimulation and the feeling of John’s control overpowering his brain and making him jerk in John’s arms as he came down from it. Feeling the man clench around him, his body spasming and twitching as he came, was John’s undoing, and he came a moment later, pressing deeply into the other man, clutching at him with shaking fingers. They were both speechless, panting and stunned and utterly content, all at once.

It took some time, but eventually, they lay spooned together in the bed, the first hints of pre-dawn light glowing dimly in the sky outside. John cuddled closer to Sherlock’s hot figure, wrapping one arm around him and leaning forward to let his lips graze his ear. “That...was amazing.”

“Mm, you think so?”

“Yes, it was.” He kissed the dark curls tickling at his nose. “Thank you.” All he got in reply was a soft hum of affirmation, and that was more than enough.

* * *

When the morning light became too annoying, and John awoke, he was alone in the bed. He wasn’t terribly surprised, but he wished it wasn’t so.

And then he caught the scent of toast and tea, and his outstretched hand brushed against something distinctly non-sheet-like, and he found himself grasping a short, hand-written note.

_John,_

_Tea and breakfast on the counter, Mrs. Hudson brought it up for you. She had to run_

_some errands, so she asked me to watch the diner. Come over and join me?_

_Sherlock_

John grinned and leapt out of bed.


End file.
